High Noon at Eight
by MaplePucks
Summary: What if Buford had actually murdered Marty in their infamous showdown? Now having lost everything dear to him, Doc is left to wonder why he ever invented the infernal time machine and to decide whether to stay in 1885 or go Back to the Future.


**OK, so I'm new to the BTTF fanfiction business, please enjoy my first one! **

* * *

Doc's heart fell to the pit of his stomach as he watched Marty fall to the dusty ground. The past few hours had been rough on the man and he wasn't sure how much more his old heart could take. Doc had lost the love of his life, his beautiful Clara, because she thought he was a fool and a liar. Now, just a few short hours later, his best friend was bleeding to death in the road because he had tried to save him. That blasted time machine had caused this, all of it! Doc had grown to hate the DeLorean, almost as much as he now hated himself.

Everything had seemed to go in slow motion when the bullet left the barrel of Buford's gun. From what Doc had seen, the shot had landed in the teen's abdomen most likely just below his left lung. Judging by the painful rasping noises Doc was hearing, the bullet had just grazed the lung, puncturing it. Marty's blood mixed strangely with the red clay road forming a sinister type of mud. The scientist tried hard to fight back his tears as he watched it flow into the street, it was going pretty fast. Marty didn't have much longer before he bled out, Doc had to get away from the three goons holding him back and get to him. He had to tell him he was sorry for ever inventing that damn time machine.

As Buford gloated gleefully about adding another kill to his count, a feeling began to overwhelm Doc. At first he wasn't quite sure what it was, perhaps a deep grief he had never felt before. It began to fill his hole being, Doc tried to force the emotion down he didn't want to feel anything right now. It was persistent, however and it kept creeping up in intensity. Doc needed to focus, he was positive that once Buford knew Marty was truly dead, he would come for Doc.

One of the delinquents tighten their grip on Doc's arm and the sensation tighten it's grip on his heart. He heard Buford laugh and it fed the feeling more. Finally, after minutes of deliberation Doc was able to identify the emotion, it was rage. Pure, unadulterated rage, being fed by the sadness he also felt. Suddenly Doc heard a soft noise, a noise that he had been listening hard for since Marty fell.

"Doc, help me," Marty whispered between his labored breaths. Just those few words unleashed the rage.

With the agility and speed no normal 65 year old should possess, he whipped around and caught all three criminals with a portion of his fist in one swift motion. They were certainly stunned but by no means knocked out. Doc was going to have to try a bit harder to get away.

They came after Doc, throwing punches of their own at him. He was ready and blocked the punches easily. He threw out a kick and hit one of the guys in the groin. The brut doubled over in pain. Doc slammed another guy in the throat; he coughed and also fell clutching his neck in agony. The last thug just looked at his two companions and back at Doc, turned and ran down the road.

When Doc finally turned around to face Buford, he found a small bit of satisfaction in the stunned look on the moron's face. He could tell that Buford was confused and unsure about what he should do. Doc knew what he wanted to do, he wanted to scream and launch himself at the villain. However, he just walked calmly over to him, surprised that Buford let him get so close as to be right in his face. By this time, Buford had regained some of his gruff composure.

"What you gonna do Smithy? Shoot me? Youse just as yella as your dead compadre over there." He said in his usual grumble. Doc just smiled, of course he couldn't shoot him, that would create a paradox.

"If only I could Tannen," Doc said forcefully. Before Buford had time to process the meaning behind that Doc whipped out the sleep-inducing alpha rhythm generator. Buford hit the ground like a ton of bricks.

Doc ran as fast as he could over to Marty, praying that he was still alive. He fell to his knees and scooped the boy into his arms to discover he was barely breathing. He let a tear slip down his face but was shocked to find the teen beaming up at him.

"Doc, that was great…I've never seen you kick ass before…that was heavy," Marty managed. Doc just looked at him sadly.

"Marty, I'm sorry. I never should have invented that damn machine, Please forgive me my dear friend," Doc said. Marty grabbed his hand and gave it a little squeeze.

"No worries Doc, I had a blast traveling through time with you, sorry it's over." He said still smiling. Doc shook his head roughly and blinked away the tears.

"Why didn't you just run like I told you? You should have saved yourself." Doc cried. Marty frowned for the first time and lifted the poncho he was wearing. It revealed to the scientist that he had been wearing an oven door as a bullet proof vest. The bullet had gone just below that.

"Honestly, I thought Buford…was a better shot" Marty said wincing. Doc was now in shock, the teen had tried to save him and ended up getting killed. He had taken a bullet for him and what had he done in return? Nothing but cause him trouble from the very beginning. Basically he had made the teen an outcast for the simple act of befriending a lonely old man, even his girlfriend thought it was weird. Marty never left his side though, no matter how much he was made fun of, no matter how people treated him. Doc felt like he was not only the worst scientist in the world, but also the worst friend. Suddenly Marty began to shake violently and blood trickled out of his mouth. Doc panicked.

"Marty!" Doc screamed. The teen smiled again, how could the kid be so calm!

"Sorry Doc…"Marty trailed off closing his eyes. Doc sighed and pulled Marty into a hug.

"No, I'm sorry for not being a better friend." Doc barely got out through his tears.

"Doc, I forgive you." He whispered into the inventor's ear. He went limp against Doc and his breathing stopped.

Doc wanted to sob, just let the grief overtake him like he had let the rage take over. He held his friend close as the towns people moved in. Morbid group of hillbillies, always looking for some sort of entertainment and a murder was at the top of the list. He felt them closing in and he felt trapped. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't move. He needed to get Marty back to his shop until he decided how to bury him. His legs didn't want to work and his arms were like lead weights.

Just when he was feeling like he would never move from this spot, he felt a soft hand on his shoulder. He didn't turn to look, he assumed it was Chester, coming to tell him what he already knew. The gentle voice he heard, however was the last one he expected.

"Oh Emmett," Clara whispered softly. He laid Marty's body down and turned around slowly. He gasped and threw his arms around her. Instead of pulling away, she embraced him tightly. He laid his head on her shoulder and began to cry with more vigor.

"He's gone, Marty is gone." He managed in a whisper. He knew Clara wouldn't know who "Marty" was but he didn't care at this point, he had screwed up the past so badly now it didn't matter. She seemed not to have noticed, Clara pulled away and placed her hands on his face.

"Emmett I believe you, about everything but right now we need to get Clint off the street." She said. Doc's old heart wanted to soar out of his chest but was so broken he couldn't even acknowledge her with words. He just nodded and with her help he lifted Marty up and began his slow walk through town.

* * *

A month later, Clara knelt down at the freshly dug grave and placed the flowers by the brand new headstone. Doc was by her side crying yet again, if only he could stop these damn tears. He hadn't stopped crying since that day, he was starting to wonder if he would ever stop crying. Clara look at him sympathetically, she was the only thing helping him through this. He had told her everything, about time travel, about Marty and she had understood. She smiled up at him and he smiled in return.

Doc had decided that putting Marty's real name on the tombstone would create a paradox with the Mcfly's of 1885. Therefore his grave simply read: Clint Eastwood, Died Sept 7 1885, Missed by ELB. Doc placed a small rock at the base, it had the real information. Only he and Clara would know it was there, only they would know about the time traveling teen. She wrapped both her arms around his arm and he reached over to grab her forearm. They stood there for a while until the sun began to set. She looked up at him and gave him a kiss.

"Let's go home." She said. He nodded and they turned to leave.

He had decided, nearly the moment Marty had fallen, that he was going to stay in the past. He couldn't travel through time any more, it had caused too many problems for him and those around him. He stayed in 1885 with Clara and lived a happy life. They had two sons, Jules and Verne. Doc died in 1920, on his birthday. Clara had assumed that was because at the same time, he was also being born. It was time correcting it's self for all he had done to it.


End file.
